


Sleep Witch

by RegentOfTheAuxArcs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breastfeeding well sort of?, Dathomir, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, I FINISHED SOMETHING FOR ONCE, Mental Health Issues, Nightperson Rituals, Other, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regression Kinda, Regression as treatment, Since Nobody Did Anywhere Near Enough With Nightpersons, So Unhappy With Canon, Swamp Witch Stuff, Warm Fuzzy Talzin?, be the fic you want to see in the world, disability feels, thanks to the writers who came before and made this possible!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 22:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11930775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegentOfTheAuxArcs/pseuds/RegentOfTheAuxArcs
Summary: Maul battles his own body and mind upon his return to Dathomir--after everything he's been through, who wouldn't be kinda messed up? With the help of his brother, mother, and community, he is able to adapt to "the new normal". It might take a bit more prompting than was originally thought to get him to remember himself and the time before he was taken.





	Sleep Witch

**Author's Note:**

> One thing I love about the Star Wars universe is how disability-affirming it is. One thing I hate is the absolute raw deal the Nightpersons got. So let's forget about the second part for a bit. This work was inspired by something weird I said on Ambien and my husband encouraged me to run with it--something to the effect of "unhand me, weird sleep witch!" and the idea just wouldn't quit after that and somehow became coherent.
> 
> This is my first actual publish and I'm unsure, but several fics have inspired me to not only write what I want to see in the world, but also use my truth. I've heavily altered canon and lore in here and I am not even sorry one bit. Enjoy, let me know how it turned out.

It's hard to still be yourself when you've spent enough years living in a kingdom of one, in a palace of trash, discarded like a broken tool.  
Maul wasn't at himself enough to keep a hold on this thought, it had been so long. He wasn't even certain of who he was aside from being a tool--the new emperor's hand, his assassin, now probably replaced by somebody who hadn't failed.  
Really, that was the worst part of it, knowing he failed and having to live with that. He hated whoever his replacement was. He hated that fucking Jedi for robbing him of his body. He hated Palpatine for not even trying to find him, for not even caring what happened. He was supposed to be so much more than this. He hated so hard and so long, it actually saved his life, if you could really call it a life at that point.  
That changed when another man wandered into his dump and took him away.  
There was at least one person who wanted to know what happened to him and wasn't going to just leave him in squalor.  
His name was Savage and he said he would take Maul back home to Dathomir.  
He hadn't thought of any place as "home" in a long time.

Time passed.

Maul had been back for a few months and steadily recovering. The first item of business after re-introducing him to his immediate family (he did have family, a mother, two brothers, how odd) was replacing the horrid body he’d constructed to get by—literal random pieces of garbage welded together and wires connected loosely into the lower part of his spinal column. It had to be ridiculously painful to do, and likely responsible for a lot of the trauma and stress that pushed his mind off the deep end. On one hand, Savage was beyond happy to have his little brother back. On the other, he didn’t know what to do with him sometimes. Everything would be fine—they shared the same room they had as children, before Maul was stolen, before the Bad Times started—and out of nowhere he’d be awake and bolt upright, screaming and swinging wild at anything and nothing, tearing across the bed to beat the Forceloving hell out of a spectre that was only in his mind. He’d nailed Savage hard a time or two, mistaking him for the phantom enemy, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. A few times it got so bad, he was so belligerent and unable to come back to reality, Savage had to bodily pick him up and throw him over his shoulder and take him to Mother’s room. It was just as when he was little, Savage thought. Maul having a much bigger tantrum and still, Mother was the only one who could stop it. Savage didn’t know what happened, why exactly she could calm him when he’d get into one of his “fits” and would be more subdued the next day. He’d noticed Maul’s eyes changed a little—they’d become a soft greyish purple on the outside, but never lost the burning gold around the pupil. Mother was probably working magic on him to repair his broken mind, Savage reasoned. It wasn’t something he ever had a talent for. He was content to study and reproduce the drawings in the Point of Origin, the cave deep in a swamp near their village that housed their history on its walls. Practice with his inking quill—eventually, there would be many Dathomirian babies again and they needed a competent artist to illustrate their lives and that would be him. 

One night, it was bad again.  
An unholy, downright feral sound woke Savage out of a dead sleep.  
“YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM, YOU SON OF A BITCH! DON’T TOUCH MY FUCKING BROTHER!”  
Maul was groping at his waist for something that just wasn’t there, confused and breathing heavy and reaching for the first thing near him he could strike with—in this case, a piece of wood Savage had been working with to repair a broken chair—and stumbled on his knees across the bed, face-planting on the floor. That didn’t stop him, he was half-crawling and clawing his way to his knees, fighting to stand, the new legs still not cooperating. Savage moved slowly but deliberately; sudden movements might startle his brother more, might turn him into the foe only Maul could see, and he desperately didn’t want to harm him in self-defense.  
Force swirled around Maul, releasing in a burst of hot, hard air that nearly knocked Savage prone. In an instant, Maul was upright, something glass across the room was shattered, and he was in form and spinning the beam, preparing to strike.  
“Maul, no, wake up!” Savage was slowly coming to his side, ready to disarm and then seize. Wood was considerably more dangerous than fists.  
Savage’s voice did nothing this time--sometimes it was enough to break the trance his brother seemed to fall into. This time whatever was in his head was serious, and somehow Savage was involved. Before he could stop him, Maul crashed the beam into the corner and knocked himself back flat, cracking the back of his head against the floor. He dropped the wood and was still.

Savage crossed the rest of the distance quickly, taking advantage of the surprise. Maul’s eyes were open and wild and overflowing with…tears?  
“Maul,” he touched his forearm, still ready to go if he still wasn't at himself.  
“Maul, are you with us? You’re home. I’m here, I’m safe. This is our room. You’re back home, I have checked the room, there is nothing here to harm you.”  
This was a lie, but it was one Maul would believe in this state.  
“Savage?” Maul’s voice was gravelly, he’d likely torn his throat up screaming at his invisible enemy.  
“Yes.”  
“He didn’t get you. You’re safe. I’m home. Was he ever here?” Maul's face was scrunched in mild confusion, putting together what had happened, separating it from what he thought.  
“No. We were asleep. It’s the nightmares again. Come on, let’s get you upright.”  
Savage surveyed the damage to his brother and the wall. The wall had a decent-sized hole knocked out of it, but Maul was bleeding from somewhere, there was a smear across the floor. Letting Maul do as much of the work as he could allow, Savage steadied him enough to sit up and examined his head. There was a definite injured spot, bleeding dark red, nearly black, seeping down his black skin. If he weren’t actively checking, he might have missed it.  
“You’re hurt. Let’s get you to Mother and get you cleaned up, head injuries can be serious.”  
“No, I’m fine,” Maul said, trying to go from sitting up to standing as if nothing happened. He wobbled and promptly landed back on his ass again. He swore and beat his fist against the floor, which Savage grabbed and held tight.  
“No. You are still recovering. Treating injury is not weakness. Let me help.”  
Maul sighed and went limp in Savage’s grasp.  
“Fine. At least let me dress first, it’s cold.”  
Savage left him down to grab a robe from the clean-clothes pile. It wasn’t cold in the room at all, if anything, after Maul’s outburst, the air had become humid and sticky. But he said nothing, just helped his brother cover himself, get upright, and be ready to catch if he went down again. He knew Maul wanted to get there on his own and as long as he could be there for support, that was just fine. Mother would know what to do.

Maul did an okay job getting down the hall on his own. He was still unstable on the new legs, and not quite right in another way, but Savage couldn’t quite pin down what. Maul knocked on the heavy wood door and it opened of its own accord. Mother Talzin was in bed, thick grey hair loose from its usual bindings, entirely free of her red ceremonial dress and head-coverings. In her white gown, she could have been a ghost.  
“My sons,” she said. “Come in, come sit.”  
Maul hobbled over and sat next to her. She opened her arms and drew him in. It didn’t matter that he was a grown man, she still cradled him to her as if he were the red-bean-baby Savage remembered. When she held the back of his head, her white hand came away bloody.  
“He fell. Another nightmare. Attacked the wall with a beam,” Savage said. He sat awkwardly at the foot of the bed, unsure of his place in this moment. She touched her hand to his forehead and closed her eyes for several seconds, pulling him as much into her lap as his size would allow. She didn’t seem to care about the red stain collecting on her sleeve.  
“Savage, please fetch me a wet cloth. We must stop the bleeding, though head-wounds often look worse than they are. I don’t sense permanent damage, but he did bounce the brain against his skull a bit. We must clean him up and keep him awake for a bit to access the exact damage.”  
Savage rose and went to her bathing chambers to do as she asked.  
“Tell me what happened as you saw it, Maul,” she said, absentmindedly stroking his back. It felt strange to feel the same mouth that fed from her breast speaking against her collarbone; he was certainly ill, but she was proud of his power, his resolve, and he was still a handsome, strong man. All of her children were beautiful, and they kept her features. Dried tears streaked his sharp cheekbones. She noticed a grit in his throat when he spoke. It was raw.  
“The Man in Black came again, Sidious,” he started, physically shuddering. She felt his formerly cool cheeks burn, and wetness—fresh tears started. She was not used to this one showing such strong emotion. “Sidious came and set his lightening on the people here, what little of us there is, he wanted you. I could kill him, finally, he wasn’t expecting me here, he was clearly here to take you. I think he sensed me, because he…” He was trying to keep control of his breathing but panic was taking him under. “He choked Savage, Mama. Like he’d done to me. But I know how to keep my throat strong. I yelled, I was going to run him through with…” He stopped and reached around his waist, realizing he was disarmed and very underdressed. This seemed to sink him further down in the mire of his mind. 

Once again, he curled up against her, not caring when a poorly-trimmed horn caught her gown and tore it a little. Mother Talzin could remember how he howled when those horns came in. It was surreal, her baby, taken by that horrible monster was with her again, but he was hurt and broken. They would get past this. Dathomir’s Children of the Night were protected by the Horned God and Winged Goddess. She saw aspects of the Horned God in her son now—the heat radiating from him, his bared teeth when speaking of the dream events, the lethality in how he apparently attacked the invisible foe. He squashed a harsh sob trying to loosen itself from his throat. His God aspects needed the balance of the Goddess.

Savage returned with the wet cloth and Mother’s medicine bag. “Thank you, my powerful darling. Now, go down a few homes to Darva—she has recently given birth. Tell her I require a serving of her milk. She has only one, so it should be no trouble. Run it into a fluid bag when you return, as if we were returning blood to a wound. I will keep your brother awake. Go.”  
It was better than sitting doing nothing, at least now, Savage could be useful. He wasn’t sure what Mother was really thinking with this, but he did enjoy the thought of visiting the young mother, even if it was a bit late. Savage loved caring for Maul and Feral, Feral now grown and becoming ready to form a family of his own. Babies of Dathomir were so pure and precious, and they were beacons of the green magic that flowed through all life here. There had been so few lately, and so few opportunities to make more.

“Please tell me the rest,” she said. She looked into his eyes, raw from tears still leaking and betraying something unhinged and unnatural in them. They darted everywhere but meeting her own. She saw in him the curious violet gaze he was born with, but still troubled by the golden ring of power. He looked away again, pushing his nose into her chest.  
“This will hurt, but we must keep your wound clean. Please continue your tale,” she said, pressing the cloth into the bleeding welt on his head. If it harmed him, he didn’t show it.  
“Mama,” he sighed. “I tried. I tried to save Savage but my legs? I was too slow. Sidious crushed his throat in front of me and lost my mind. I saw nothing but red and I drew and I was going to cleave him in half—not the short way.” He hissed. Talzin smiled to herself. Vicious warrior, even in his sleep. A vertical bisection is not only beyond the realm of pain, it is irreparable, even by Nightsister magic. 

She remembered him on her table, laid out and dirty, half Nightbrother, half construct enchanted with hate and some latent sort of Sith magic. Carefully taking him apart and putting him back together, building his body as close to it could be naturally, spinning each nerve into his spine like individual threads in a tapestry. He had functional legs again, he had at least a functional lower body, though he would likely not be virile in the sense that he could create children. It was both her finest work as Mother Witch of this Coven but also terrible in the way that only a mother would understand—tearing apart and rebuilding her baby.  
“I know you’d have torn him to a fine mist, my son,” she said, carefully dabbing and stroking his head to clear the blood and access the actual damage to his head. It seems he’d nicked a horn in the back as well but they grow back fast enough.  
“He can’t have you, Mama. Or Savage. You are mine.”  
“Always.”  
She pulled him to sit up on her big, soft thighs. “Watch my finger with your eyes, darling. I must see that your brain is working right.”  
His wide eyes followed her finger easily, crossed a little when she touched his nose. That seemed normal.  
“Tell me about your lightsaber,” she said, feeling various pressure points on his head and neck.  
“It was…almost 19 units long, black anodized aluminum mostly, joint to take it apart, hidden activators, windows so I could see the crystals, vents on the ends because they ran hot. I bled them, made them as red as I could. It was beautiful.”  
He was of course talking about his first one, not the one he crafted from the shattered remains of the first that fell down the trash chute. His mind was still sharp, but it wasn’t quite caught up with time, or necessarily always in the correct place and time. She didn’t feel any truly dangerous injury, just a thump from the floor and wood tends to tear skin. Aside from his mind, he would be just fine. Now might be the time to try to repair some of his mind, Talzin thought. Waiting for Savage to return, Talzin made room in her bed for Maul to stretch out perpendicular and keep his upper body against hers. It did seem to calm him. Hopefully soon, the leatherworker across the way would be finished fashioning him skin to be grafted over his legs so they would look more natural, more him. His legs and loins were empty and cold, metal frames of what he needed to be a functioning man. She wasn’t deaf—he cursed his new body constantly when working to learn to use it again.  
“I would like to try to heal some of your mental injuries, Maul. Care to get comfortable? You will sleep with me tonight.”  
Having talked through the trauma and grounded himself, he no longer felt able to be vulnerable. That horrible man’s abuse was peeking though and she would someday kill him for it. Maul was quiet for a moment and then tried to raise up.

“Ma—Mother, I think I’m okay. I think I can go back to bed.”  
“Nonsense, Maul. You head may be only a flesh wound, but your mind is a mess. You need healing.”  
“Mother, please. It was just another bad nightmare. I can keep drinking the tea for my memory,” he said, impatience cutting through the gravel in his throat. She touched it as well, surreptitiously—he’d indeed blown out his throat screaming. Between his carrying on and the immense Force-ripple he caused, she knew she wasn’t going to sleep well tonight anyway and the visit didn’t surprise her.

Savage returned with the milk and readied the transfusion bag, handing it to Talzin when finished.  
“Thank you for caring for you brother, Savage,” she said quietly, inkling her head toward the door. He was disappointed and worried, but at the same time, he’d surely get better sleep alone, and Mother knew.

“Maul, we’re going to fix your mind. I know it’s still injured. I need you to relax and trust me. Leave your robe on the floor, you generate enough heat as it is.”  
He obeyed, still trying to cover his lower half. She understood his embarrassment—he was a beautiful, well-formed man before the injuries. He still was—it just wasn’t covered in skin yet. She certainly didn’t put any value on that false virtue, modesty, in her Coven and colony. Besides, he was her son—this makes twice now she has created his body and soon, performed his ritual tattooing.  
“Come, lay with me like when you were little. Do you remember?”  
He shook his head.  
She reached back out to Savage with her mind.  
savage i need the incense on, the ones made from the cave i need the water from the big jar in my bathing chambers on my night stand thank you strong one  
He rolled over and grunted. He was almost asleep again. Anything for his brother, anything for Mother.

The bedroom was warm and dimly lit with a few candles placed strategically on Talzin’s altar. The red glow was comforting, it was just like being bathed in the light of the moon. For this cleansing ritual, it was perfect. Savage did as she asked, lighting the incense made from dried moss from the cave at the Point of Origin, the hidden wellspring of Force magic. It had a thick scent, not unlike hardwood trees and ocean, with the fresh green herbiness of the moss. These scents would hopefully make Maul remember. They calmed Talzin and made it easier to focus. She put the bag of milk under her arm to keep it warm, and threaded the tube over her shoulder. She pulled Maul gently into the crook of her arm, just like many long years ago. He protested at first, but the air in the room and the green swirling smoke of Force around Talzin took the fight right from him. He could hear her one heart beating—and tried to breathe and sync both of his hearts with hers. It had been so long since he consciously let anyone touch him like this. This intimately.  
“I want you to close your eyes and try to sleep, Maul. I’ll heal you. You won’t feel a thing.”  
He did. Force-Ghosts, he was so tired. And Mother was so warm. Savage had gone back to their room, so all was quiet. He was finally comfortable enough to forget his nudity and the various little anxieties that plagued him when he tried to sleep on his own with Savage. Mother waved her hand and the bowl of water next to the bed came alive, making a waterfall of itself. He adjusted and immediately moved again, a little jarred to find her nipple pressing into his cheek. He scooted enough up to rest against her collarbone and breast without feeling too awkward. Something poked his lip.  
“Open and drink, my frightening little warrior. Let your mind relax and drift back. I know it’s been a long time and you’ve been through so much, but you were my baby once.”  
He opened and bit down on the tube. A familiar sweet, thick fluid came through and he had vivid memories of craving this as a very small child, it had to be soon after he was taken. In fact, most of the things he often found himself craving were all of a sudden just there.  
Milk. Warmth. The familiar smells of his homeworld and his mother. The weird hum of the green force all around him.  
"Don't think about now. Try to remember before you were gone. Remember how I held you on nights like this, how you'd wake up screaming as loud as your little lungs could. Savage would bring you to me and here we'd be again. You were safe. You were loved. You are safe and loved again." She brushed her hand across his face, gently closing his eyes for him.  
"While I work, you enjoy that feeling for a while again. Trust in your mother. You're home, warm, safe, loved. It's okay to surrender to it."

He sighed and continued to drain the tube. He really did feel young again--the pain in his spine and joints left him, much of the fear and rage muted, but the horrific emotional damage (in sidious' voice, always his: when is she going to tear this from your mouth, humiliate you, berate you for being her baby, it's shameful, how could he, drinking some other woman's breast milk as a grown man, what the hell was wrong with him, sith do not love, love is not passion, love is soft and weak) just kept piling on. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the voices, the anxiety, to stop, please, anything, get out of his head.  
"I can feel your panic, child, take some deep breaths in through your nose. Don't choke on the milk, take it slow. If you need more, when Darva has fed her young one, I'm sure it wouldn't be trouble. I need to continue the ritual. Relax for me. Relax and remember how it felt before you were taken." He summoned the self-discipline he worked so hard to cultivate--let go of the struggle for peace. Stop trying for peace. The nagging voice in his head was just another chain, linking him back to Sidious. Focus on Mama's words. Her beating heart. The power of the green Force folding around him. Sidious' voice lied, as usual--this was passion. Not in the sense that lust and wrath were passion, this was something more basic and pure. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was palpable and it was overtaking him. This love was as strong as, if not more so, than much of the lust and greed and wrath he had encountered. And it was focused entirely on him.  
Break the chain. Let go of that nasty voice. Break the chain. Let this passion grow strength again.

Mama’s voice. Half-whispering, half-singing something, a chant of some sort. The humming in the room increased, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was more like raising of defensive walls. She continued, and he became drowsy enough that the tubing slipped from his lips and he snuggled closer into Mama’s soft spots. She continued her faint, gentle song, and in no time, blessed black nothing claimed him.

 

“I can do it myself, let go!”  
The next day, Maul and Savage spent working on getting around on his own again. The back of his head had no wound, not even a scar, from the night before. He was more…himself. Mother drifted in at one point, taking a break from writing out a ritual meant for the upcoming New Year. She stood there for a moment, watching her sons in the same dynamic they’d always had—Maul fiercely independent, Savage happy to support, if not protect. She smiled to herself. Healing Maul’s fractured mind meant he’d soon be up and raising hell again as soon as he could, and though she’d hoped to wait to give his body time to heal, last night was too much. She crossed to the kitchen to make some tea. It would only be a few more days until the skin was ready and could be attached. He’d feel even more himself then, she thought. Having control of his body wouldn’t be quick, but at least being able to look at himself and not feel disconnected from his own body would make it easier and be of some comfort. Maul managed to make it from the chair in their sitting area around the fire to a chair at the dining area kitchen entirely on his own, a space of maybe twenty steps. She understood the difficulty of this task and her heart swelled with pride. Her children were strong, each in their own way, and perfect. She poured two cups and brought them to the table, leaving one in Savage’s usual spot and one in front of Maul. She stepped behind him and hugged his shoulders, also making sure the bang on his head did in fact heal.

“Let go, sleep witch,” he said, batting at her arms. It was a game, as it always had been. His memory was returning.  
“No. You have worked hard today and deserve this.”  
He relented and leaned back.  
“Will you know the location of Sidious soon, Mother?” he said.  
“Soon. I don’t control what the fires tell me. I have been busy getting ready to usher in the New Year. The Sisters are restless.”  
“I look forward to seeing this,” he said, squirming out of her hold enough to take the tea.  
“I want to know more about us. To have an identity of my own, not one issued to me.”  
“You have forged your own identity, Maul. You have strength and self-discipline, and a determination that I remember very well from when you were small. You certainly didn’t let knocking yourself into a table more than once keep you from walking then, either.”  
The side of Maul’s mouth twitched.  
“We are glad you’re home. I’m glad you’re home. I think you’ll enjoy the New Year festivities—I’m sure Savage has told you about the Midnight Hunt.”  
He set the tea back down and sighed.  
“You should know as much as you can to plan, since you will be participating.”  
“Do you really think,” he chose his words slowly. “That I will be mobile enough to be an asset to the hunting party by then? I can’t reliably cross a room.”  
“You already are an asset. If you are still not mobile, I can’t think of a better tactician.”  
He nodded, truly smiling for the first time since his arrival.  
“Each gives according to what they can,” she said. “It always has been and always will be our way.”  
“Then let me have my tea. I have maps to study. Which means going back to the other damn side of the room.”  
Talzin let go, deciding to bring her mug back to the throne room to give Maul quiet to work. Savage took a seat and they were talking, and as she left, she watched Maul stand and steady himself with the table. She thanked the Winged Goddess for returning her son to her, and gave a quick thought to the Horned God to protect her warriors. Regardless of his body shape, Maul was exactly that, and a blessing from the God certainly wouldn’t hurt. Participating in the Hunt with his Brothers would be a good first stop on the road to tracking down and ending his abuser. Talzin amused herself at the meeting thinking of all the horrible, creative ways the Man in Black could die. 

That night, the house was quiet. An outsider might mistake this silence for peace, but it was more like a charge—the red moon cast its mysterious light, ancient magics filled the occupants and galvanized them in their rest. For the first time in a very long time, Maul didn’t dream anything at all.


End file.
